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One

Bellamy

“TELL ME YOUfeel it starting to sprinkle,” I groan in foolish hope.

“No,” Brynn laughs. “Did you, um…”

“Piss on my foot? Yep, pretty sure I did. With the added bonus of backsplash as it hits the ground. Let’s not forget that party favor.”

“Spread your feet farther apart, and quit making me laugh,” she snorts, wobbling in her compromised position. “I’m no expert at this either and you're gonna make me pee on myself too.”

What the hell am I doing?I’m beyond positive that my parents did not scrimp, save, sell and pawn everything they could, plus work double shifts to send me to college so I could master “the art of squatting to pee in the woods.”

And Brynn Kendrick, crouched down in what very well may be a bed of poison ivy with me? Definitely outside her comfort zone as well.

But then again…is a patch of poison ivyanyone’scomfort zone?

The only reason we’re at this party, in a field,obviously lacking restrooms, is because Brynn’s softball teammates had berated her unmercifully into coming.

I’m not sure if they want her here for the right reason—because she’s a great girl—or because her mom’s the coach and if Brynn’s here, they might not get in as much trouble for having a party if caught. Either way, I wasn’t about to refuse to come with her.

When Brynn and I met on campus it was instant friendship. One somewhat socially introverted, goal-oriented girl in search of a top-notch education meeting another like soul. And we’ve been inseparable, best friends, ever since.

I am pretty comfortable saying what I think in a small crowd, especially made up of people I know, so I’m notquiteas reserved as Brynn, but it’s close. So, being our best chance at a “spokesperson” against any really bad ideas that often “pop up” at these shindigs, no way could I let my girl navigate the shark-infested waters of a college party alone.

And our pre-party pact included the golden rule: Never leave your wingwoman. So, if one of us really has to pee, webothhave to traipse through the maze of protruding limbs and scratchy bushes to pee.

“Are you done?” She asks, still squatting.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yes, but as a novice, I have a question.”

“Ask away. Although,considering I just pissed on myself, I doubt I have the right answer.”

“What do we, you know, wipe with? A leaf? Drip-dry? Geez.” She looks around, as though a roll of toilet paper will magically appear. “This sucks.”

“Excuse me, Brynn?” Ryder calls out from his watch post. “Not that I’m eavesdropping, but I have an idea on how to help.”

“Oh my God, he heard us. How embarrassing,” Brynn whispers her agony.

I muzzle my laughter—she would never see the humor in this situation. Not only is Brynn very conservative and as inexperienced with the world that is guys, dating…and dating guys as I am…but she’s absolutely nuts about Ryder Banks.

And he worships the ground she walks on; hasn’t taken his eyes off her since the time they spent together at Brynn’s oldest sister Skylar’s wedding.

But no one is allowed to acknowledge or speak aloud of “the thing” between them, because even they won’t give it all they’ve got…downplaying it and denying themselves true happiness because of Brynn’s family.

Overprotective doesn’t even touch upon the “ways” of my best friend’s very large, extended family of crazies. Wonderful, loving, cool AF crazies…but regardless, more than a littleinsanely“involved.”

I haven’t met them all, but the ones I have? They are fascinating in both the most admirable, and scary as hell, of ways.

“Brynn, answer him,” I urge her to “woman-up” and find out his plan. “My calves are starting to cramp. I’m not a star ballplayer like you, feeling the burn here.”

“I’d rather not. Just leave me here. I can’t face him now, or ever again.”

“Okay,” I pretend to agree, then yell, “Ryder, I’m coming out, but Brynn wants us to leave her here. Ya know, in the woods, at night, alone, at a party.”

“You did not just say that. Paybacks are an evil, sneaky bitch, Bellamy,” she hisses.

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